The Eve Before Battle
by Merlle
Summary: The Warden Amell lays bare and alone while Alistair performs Morrigan's dark ritual. She is finally breaking under the pressure and jealousy brought by her own choices. Where is Alistair? This is the author's debut in the world of fan fictions.


Amell closed the door behind her, staring at the empty darkness. Moonlight was pouring from the open window, bathing the room in the faintest silver light. She kept her back pressed against the wooden door, her gauntlet still on the handle, as if wanting to rip it open to come back crashing into where she came from. But the only thing her body felt was weakness – an incredible weakness that made her knees give in and sent her full armored body into the floor. Still pressed against the door, she kept staring into the darkness. She still couldn't fully believe what was happening and what she had just done.

The price of being a Warden was huge. None of the candidates knew fully well before the Joining what it meant to be a Grey Warden, but being one of the two left in a Blight-afflicted country, being the other one her lover, had finally come to a halt where it was too much to bear. She thought the last weeks where she had crowned Alistair king and arranged a betrothal between him and Anora had been impossibly hard on her, but this settled a new record. The fact that it was the eve of a battle for her time where the destiny of millions would depend single-handedly on her and Alistair should be the single thing weighting on her right now, but things were so much more complicated.

Duncan had died. And because of it, they had never known what it took to end a Blight. Not until that very night, when Riordan explained to them that a Grey Warden must die with the Archdemon. It would fall on one of them – Riordan, herself or Alistair to do it. At least one of them had to die to end the Blight and she hadn't known of it until the very eve of battle because Duncan had died. She hugged her knees and thought of Loghain's cold body on the floor under a pool of blood, but that didn't make her feel better in the slightest. The taste of revenge was bitter and cold, not warming at all.

That revelation, in turn, had lead Morrigan to reveal herself. She had never truly suspected Morrigan to have a hidden agenda of her own, despite Alistair's bickering. She had really believed Morrigan was, deep down, a good person who was following them for a noble cause. Foolish, naive woman. She felt betrayed, like a thin and poisoned blade had reached her heart and was now burning and consuming it. Or was it jealousy? Was this what jealousy felt like?

She stood up slowly and limped towards the open window, where she stood against the wall. The night was amazingly clean and still for a night before a great battle, but she didn't notice it. Her head and her heart strode towards Morrigan with such a strength that she wondered if she could feel it, too. So that's why Morrigan had felt apologetic upon declaring her heartfelt friendship. That's why she had hesitated upon it and there had been regret and sadness in her beautiful, wild features. The signs were there all along – why didn't she just read them? She felt stupid, naive and useless. And then, selfish – utterly selfish.

Morrigan had offered her a way out, when coming out with her plan. Odds were that either she, the Warden Amell, or Alistair would be killed in battle the next day, facing the Archdemon. Her offer assured that it didn't need to be that way. It was sweet, enticing music, too good to be true. Of course, it wasn't. The way around involved a freshly-made Warden to conceive a child on the eve of battle, with Morrigan. Upon killing the Archdemon, its Old God essence would search this child instead of the Warden who had done the killing blow, sparing the Warden, but infusing the child with the soul of an Old God. It had been Morrigan's plan all along and she hadn't even been slightly suspicious. Or had it been Flemeth? It had been Flemeth's, she was sure of it now, especially after she had learnt of her plans of stealing Morrigan's pregnant body after her triumphant return to the Korcari Wilds that would now never happen. She was suddenly glad she had killed her. But it wasn't a noble thought, not at all – she was simply glad she had killed her because what Flemeth would do with an Old God would worry her much more then what Morrigan would. And it would eventually weight down much more on her already half destroyed conscience.

She could have refused it, of course. And the call of her duty beckoned her to take Morrigan's offer down and finish the Archdemon herself. But she had never been one to follow blind duty. She was a mage, having grown up surrounded by surly templars, stiff gloomy men, bound and restricted by duty, never to know life outside of it. She would not become one of them, nor allow Alistair to, even though she knew he would jump at the Archdemon at the first chance he'd get – and that thought, because she knew it was so real, was the thing that scared her the most, even more then dying herself. She had already sacrificed herself for Ferelden when she had put Alistair on the throne next to Anora, but she wasn't willing to part with him through death if there was a way out. She didn't even know the dimension of what she was allowing. Wasn't she supposed to protect Ferelden and sacrifice herself for it was a Warden's duty? Well, screw Ferelden. Before she was a Warden, she was a woman. And before saving the world from a Blight, she allowed herself to revel in her weakness, in her fear to loose the only thing she truly had. Wynne had warned her, many months back. But it wouldn't have changed a thing.

She let herself slide down, sitting on the floor, below the window, where the faint silver light of the Moon didn't reach. She started unfastening her own heavy armor, a practice which mages weren't usually proficient with – that is, unless they had learned the ways of the arcane warrior or had become lovers to a warrior, which were both things she knew well. The stinging in her chest was now threatening to overthrow her, and as much as she was trying to keep it away by gnawing on her situation, she couldn't just ignore it anymore. Alistair was everywhere in her mind, in her gestures, in the furious throbbing in her chest and was stabbing into her like a blade. She recoiled at the feeling, overwhelmed by it.

Being a woman she couldn't, of course, conceive a child with Morrigan. It had to be a male Warden, one who hadn't been tainted by the Joining for too long. Alistair was the only person fit for the role. Amell had to choose between dying or loosing Alistair or letting him sleep with Morrigan. Alistair had to choose between dying and sleeping with Morrigan, since, according to him, not sacrificing himself was not an option. He truly seemed anxious to die for someone ever since Duncan's death, an enthusiasm she didn't share in the slightest. Thinking of his existential dilemma, between dying and sleeping with Morrigan (he was truly considering that the jaws of the Archdemon were most likely more cozy), she couldn't help but drawing a faint smile upon her already tear filled face. "_I lost him twice._" She thought "_I am loosing him again right now and I'll keep loosing him through life. You'd better get used to this._" But as the words formed in her head, she immediately knew it was vain advice. She would never get used to it. She knew plainly well now what that foul swelling in her chest and her streaming face were about. She wasn't ashamed of her selfish decisions – she was _jealous_. And it was consuming her. The men she loved was in the next room having _sex_ with Morrigan. And she knew it too well and she not only had allowed it, she had convinced him to do it. And now, she was paying the price. And, although she kept telling herself it was a small price to pay for a chance for both of them to live, it didn't seem small in the slightest there and then. It was breaking her in large edgy pieces. And this was the night before the greatest battle of their time. She was lying in her room, stretched under a window, armor half unbuckled, looking positively miserable, crying for a men. Duncan would be proud.

When she heard a soft knock on the door, she didn't know how long she had been out. She wasn't even sure she had dozed off or simply lied in the darkness. Then the door opened just enough for a figure to peek inside and hesitantly enter the room. It was Alistair, half dressed, looking exhausted and clearly not knowing very well what to do, because he stopped at the entrance and looked at the ground, before closing the door behind him. It was then that he clearly noticed the bed was empty and there was a cluttering of armor on the ground, near the window, when Amell moved to straighten herself at his arrival, expectantly. Their eyes did not meet, but upon finding her location, Alistair strode across the room, kneeled beside her and suddenly held her against him.

"It's done." He said, a note of definite closure in his voice.

She held his face in her hands, feeling her whole body soothe and calm down.

"You came... You came back." She was smiling and holding his face now, staring into him like she hadn't done it in years.

"You look miserable. Is that why you look miserable? You were thinking I wouldn't return? Well, I... Maybe I shouldn't have. But I had to." He looked embarrassed now. "Here, I took a bath."

Amell laughed freely now, between the tears. He was definitely back. Was that what she was fearing? That he wouldn't return? Her chest still burned and she was still scattered on the floor, but Alistair's grip was enough to pull her back together. And he had come back, Which means he needed her as much as she needed him.

"Listen, you know I love you and all, but please, do not make me do something like that ever again." He said, holding her hand but not looking her in the eyes. He sounded very serious. She joined the direction of his gaze.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry." She said, earnestly, holding on to him, clutching her head in the curve of his neck "It was hard on both of us."

"I can see that." He said painfully. "I won't even start thinking about the possible consequences, I think my head would explode and one can only take so much for one night." He shook his head, sighed heavily and looked at her, wiping her eyes. "I really think we should get some sleep before tomorrow."

She nodded in agreement and suddenly realized she was still half bound in heavy armor.

"Will you help me get free of these?" She didn't need to ask that, but she still did. "Just like old times." "_With a twist... or various._" She thought.

He chuckled sadly, but she suddenly noticed his gaze on her and looked up only to see him looking upon her, sadly, but intently. Their eyes locked silently for the first time since he had entered the dark room, with a burning intensity Amell could feel swelling in her chest. She had lost this man tonight, but he was here before her now, gazing at her the same way she was gazing at him. He had lost her too, it was written all over his body, the way he looked at her and held her. An urging of despair started building in her, making her breath uneven and he must have felt the same way because, suddenly, without advise, they were all over each other. Their embrace soon turned into a furious and passionate kiss and he was everywhere. She let herself be overwhelmed by him. They were soon fighting to get off each other so the rest of the armor could come out, but to no avail. Each patch of armor revealed a patch of thin cloth or skin that he would involuntarily cling to, almost ripping off her linen undershirt, in his urge to touch and kiss her skin. She gasped for air and held on to him, to his hair, to his shoulders, to the curve of his neck, holding on to his thin clothed shirt and pulling it urgently, taking it off him after a few seconds of fighting. They were half naked now and he kissed her again, this time, more tenderly.

Finally, the last of the armor came off. She looked much smaller without it – not the mighty Grey Warden, the legend material - but simply the woman under it. So did Alistair, who took her in his arms and walked her to the bed in the middle of the room, never taking his eyes off her, letting the armor on the floor shine in the moonlight from above. There was a fireplace near it that could have been lit with a few words and gestures from her, but she wanted it like this – they belonged in the darkness now, her and him.

They took off whatever clothes were still on them and lied on the bed, holding each other for a long time. Amell cried in the cradling silence, in the chest of her beloved, not knowing exactly where the tears were coming from. He would caress her back and kiss her forehead from time to time, never letting her go. Amell fell slowly asleep, lulled by the cadence of his breathing. But before that, she kissed his chest, tucking into it and whispered something in his ear, only to find him already asleep. She smiled, watching him, caressed his face and finally allowed her mind turn blank, cradled in the rhythm of his chest, damp from her tears.

This was the night before their last great battle of their time. Not even the Archdemon would be able to find her in the fade.


End file.
